


Sharpe Meets the Chosen Men

by DorsetGirl



Series: Sharpe - Weekly Clip Transcripts [2]
Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, International Fanworks Day 2021, Movie: Sharpe's Rifles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorsetGirl/pseuds/DorsetGirl
Summary: Sharpe has big plans for his new life as an officer, and he needs to make a good impression.
Series: Sharpe - Weekly Clip Transcripts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172534
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Sharpe Meets the Chosen Men

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmugnNvs6zw) from Sharpe’s Rifles. All dialogue is borrowed from the show.

~ ~ ~

“Who the blazes are you Sir?”

Sharpe looked up and saw two officers silhouetted in the doorway. He scrambled to his feet, cursing Harper and himself, and dusted his uniform off frantically as he looked up at the Major. This must be Dunnett, the man who didn’t like officers coming up from the ranks.

He was furious. He'd planned this meeting so carefully - how he would present himself to the men, what he would say to Major Dunnett to show he could be as good an officer as anyone. He’d thought about it during every minute he could snatch from Hogan’s almost endless talking on the journey from HQ.

He was confident in his ability to lead men, and he knew he was a better soldier than most. From what little he’d seen so far, most of his new command seemed much as he’d expected and showed proper respect for an officer, and they were certainly quick enough to raise their weapons when they judged it were needed. He’d thought to have them on parade when he met the Major for the first time. 

But that ignorant bastard Harper had put paid to that so instead he scrabbled in his ammunition pouch for his orders from the General and handed them to Dunnett, who passed them straight to the Captain to read.

“These papers are in order, Sir - seems Sharpe distinguished himself.”

“Not here, he hasn’t!”

On first acquaintance Captain Murray looked to be decent enough - for a toff - and Sharpe held tight to the tiny glow of satisfaction at being treated as an actual human being now he was an officer. That was one thing he’d always remember from the ranks, how you felt the officers didn’t understand you were a man just like them. Well, not _just_ like them, obviously, but still a man, with your own pride, your own hopes and fears, and your own particular reasons for fighting in the army of a King who would never know you existed and probably didn’t care anyway.

He’d hoped somehow to show all of that to Major Dunnett, but bloody Harper had robbed him of the chance to make a good first impression and now to put a cap on it Dunnett was sneering at him.

“We have standards here, Sharpe. An officer must behave like a gentleman. Even if he is NOT a gentleman.”

It was only the memory of Sir Arthur Wellesley saying, "He may not, um, mind his manners. So you must mind yours," that stopped Sharpe giving up on the whole idea of himself as an officer and just turning to punch Harper straight in the teeth. He wasn’t _quite_ furious enough to do it to Dunnett instead and get himself called out, partly because his bloody fifth-hand sword that Hogan had charged him through the nose for would probably break if Dunnett even looked at it.

Conscious of his men still standing behind him, three of whom who he’d barely seen yet, he grovelled suitably before Dunnett while wondering how the hell to get a grip on this bloody useless shower. He’d barely been here five minutes and they’d committed two shooting offences already. Any more of it and he was in danger of actually having to order the punishment; not what he wanted for his first day in command.

He decided to keep a very close eye on Harper and kill the bastard the moment he put another foot wrong - maybe in the mountains tomorrow.

As Dunnett’s priggish backside disappeared out of the barn, Sharpe turned back to the men and ordered them to parade in five minutes.

~ ~ ~

Ten minutes later Sharpe finished tidying himself up and walked over to where his ridiculously small new command stood lined up for his inspection. Even as a sergeant he’d been responsible for more than twice this number.

From what he’d already seen, he’d decided to forget weapons inspection for now, and concentrate on finding out a bit more about each man’s background and skills. They looked fairly typical, all underfed with the exception of Harper - he’d have to keep an eye, make sure the man wasn’t stealing food from the others - and he hoped they were better at shooting than they were at getting up in the morning.

After the fracas with Harper he intended to impose his authority on this unpromising-looking bunch as quickly as possible. He couldn’t help feeling there must be better ways than sarcasm, shouting and contempt, but it was all he knew - all he’d ever seen, really - and it would have to do for now.

Getting information out of the first two went all right, with both men showing proper respect for his rank, but the man Harris with his posh voice had him flummoxed from the start. 

Sharpe had no doubts about his own intelligence, and thanks to Lieutenant Lawford’s efforts in Seringapatam he knew he was better educated than most men who joined in the ranks, but it seemed that Harris was unfortunately not most men.

Who Lord Backus might be when he was at home at Wheatley in Oxfordshire, Sharpe had no idea, but he recognised the word "debtor" all right. Angry at the reminder that it would take him months even on his new Lieutenant’s pay to get out of debt for the uniform, he sneered at Harris.

“You’re a rake and a wastrel, Harris. Is there anything you CAN do?”

“I can read, sir,” the man answered, looking straight at him with barely disguised contempt.

Sharpe swallowed hard. Fuck. That was the last thing he’d expected, though he thought as maybe the words “courtier” and “unremitting” should have given him the clue. Not so bloody superior in the brain department after all, he thought bleakly. He’d been taking it for granted that his ability to out-think this lot would add to the authority given him by his commission, and that he could set both against the dangers of spending his days walking in front of a group of armed men who had no other reason to respect or obey him and plenty of reason not to. 

Well, he’d just have to go harder on the authority of the commission, stamp the men into place and keep them there with Wellesley’s authority while he worked out how to develop his own.

Harris was still staring at him and he looked down briefly before moving on to the youngster, Tongue, who seemed to be one of those unfortunates who’d been born to a camp follower and knew no other world than following the army all his life until he was old enough to be absorbed into it.

Then it was Harper’s turn. Still smarting from his encounter with Harris, Sharpe was even more scathing than he’d intended with the Irish bastard at the end of the line. The man was a lost cause anyway, but he was annoyed with himself for saying straight out what he thought. He had to remember he was separate from them now, had to learn to keep himself apart and try to talk a bit more like a proper officer.

Harper didn’t bother answering his question, didn’t bother disguising his contempt for the officer up from the ranks, and Sharpe decided for now to move on quickly, though the blatant insolence worried him.

He wasn’t concerned about the men looking at him directly - he felt it made for more honesty and better communication between officers and other ranks and wouldn’t be discouraging it in his own men - but the confidence they felt in doing so with an unknown officer was disturbing. He could see he had a lot of work to do to get them under control, and he decided to address them briefly before they joined the column, as a warning. 

“Remember this: I know you all. I’ve always known you, you and your kind all my life.”

He needed them to know he was wise to all their tricks. He knew he’d grow to hate making speeches and he wasn’t sure whether his next words would be seen as a shameful admission or as the expression of pride he meant it to be, but it was a message he badly wanted to get over to them. It represented everything he was, everything he’d ever been or wanted to be, and it summed up what he wanted for his new command. 

He took a deep breath.

“All I know is how to fight. So if there’s any man amongst you expects a quick ramble through this war, now’s the time.” 

No-one moved. He’d already seen that they had the typical self-discipline of the Rifles, even if they didn’t respect any other authority, and he was fairly sure none of them would desert.

“Be sure now...”

Again no-one moved. That would do for now, he decided; no sense pushing too far on the first day. He’d learnt who they were and he’d told them who he was and what he expected of them. 

Now he had to make it happen. 

~ ~ ~


End file.
